


Day One

by daimonas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: 90's Biker AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, An excuse to write mage Hawke in a leather jacket and fingerless gloves, Bait & Switch AU, Bait & Switch Biker AU, Basically, M/M, Modern Era, Modern..ish?, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), and even though y'all know that maybe it'll be more bothersome to read it, i also describe blood and such, so if you're bothered by violence please be careful reading, the violence tag is only because like...fenris crushes a man heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13083861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daimonas/pseuds/daimonas
Summary: Bait & Switch Motorcycle Gang AU. Basically, Hawke in leather, on a Harley, falling in love at first sight (with Fenris, of course).





	Day One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedBird1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBird1991/gifts).



The night is cold, the winter air brisk against the naked flesh of Hawke's face as he drives. Not that there's much visible flesh, per say - the man's made of eighty percent body hair and the rest broad muscle - but you get the picture.

Hawke revs his Harley as he pulls into an empty spot in front of the Hanged Man. Fortunately, because of the cold, there's no one outside to gawk at him and he climbs from his bike. He pops the kickstand, kills the engine, and slides the helmet from his head to hang on the back of the bike. He briefly attempts to fix his mop of hair by brushing it back with his fingers, only to have it flop back into his eyes. He sighs, letting out a huff of air that pops his hair away from his forehead for a brief second, and turns to head into the bar.

When he enters, he's greeted with the usual aroma of stale cigarettes and piss-poor beer but, aside from the stench, the bar is much more warm and welcoming than the frigid air outside. People mingle and murmur amongst themselves, but no one seems particularly rowdy tonight. Considering Hawke can tell some were already obviously drunk, the fact that no one is trying to pick a fight says a lot about this particular bar.

The freezing gust of wind that bursts through the door, slinking its way through the bar and biting at every centimeter of exposed flesh it can find, causes everyone inside to turn their eyes towards the unwelcome intrusion. Hawke makes eye contact with a few people - sure that he looks much more intimidating that he's intending (he's always been told he has "one of those faces") - but otherwise ignores the gazes as he makes his way to the bar.

Corff greets him with a pint, already filled to the brim with Budweiser. Hawke hates this shit - it tastes like motor fuel mixed with piss - but it does its job, and does it well. So he drinks it, anyway.

Hawke takes the beer from Corff and takes a long drink from it as Corff says, "You look about ready to fight tonight."

Hawke moves the glass from his lips, setting it gently back down on the scratched wood of the bar. He shrugs, attempting a brief smile before repeating, for the millionth time, "How many times do I have to tell you - it's just my face."

"No, no, Hawke," Corff insists, walking a few steps down the bar, but remaining within earshot as he picks a pint glass out of the sink filled to the brim with dish water. He begins washing the pint before turning his eyes back to Hawke's. "I know your face, friend. While you do look scary literally  _ all the time  _ -seriously, what is up with that? - you're looking particularly terrifying tonight."

Hawke grunts, taking a swig of his beer and pointedly ignoring Corff's insinuation. He casts his eyes around the room quickly, looking for any sign of his friends among the crowd. He almost misses them - huddles in the back corner of the room like the anti-social lot they are. Hawke, still ignoring Corff's jab, offers him a nod before turning and walking over to his rag-tag gang of misfits. As he walks, his black boots fall in heavy steps - a quality he's unfortunately never been able to get rid of. If Garrett Hawke was in the room, you knew it. Sneaking around has never been his specialty.

"Hawke! My man! Welcome!" Varric calls as Hawke approaches the table. Aveline and Anders are there, too, and they all attempt to move their drinks to accompany Hawke's presence. Hawke pulls the last empty chair back and flops into it, the chains on his worn leather jacket clinking as he does. As he takes a drink of his beer (already more than half-gone at this point), Aveline says, "Rough day?"

Hawke's brows crinkle together, scrunching his face together at the accusation. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Anders snorts and moves his glacier-blue eyes to Hawke. "You're serious?"

Hawke narrows his golden eyes on Anders. He takes note of the new "mage rights" patch on the front of his leather jacket. He says, tauntingly, "I like your new patch."

Now it's Anders' turn to narrow his eyes. With his blonde hair down (for once), his face looks soft - very non-threatening - no matter how hard he tries. 

Hawke grins, provoking. Just as Anders is about to speak, Aveline cuts in. "Don't. If you guys brawl again, you're going to have to find another night to do it. I'm out of a good time, on my only night off this week - and I don't want to spend it cleaning up after you two."

Anders inhales through his nose, trying to take a steadying breath, and Hawke chuckles. He takes a long drink from his beer (by drink, he means he chugs the rest) and, once finished, places the pint on the table hard enough that Corff looks over. Hawke grins, waving the empty pint, and Corff rolls his eyes but goes about making the giant mage another drink.

Hawke moves his empty glass across the cluttered table, attempting to make room for his new pint, then settles back into his chair - legs spread; heavy, fingerless-gloved hand resting on his upper thigh; his other hand digging in his pocket for his pack of Marlboros. He fishes them out, popping one between his lips and lighting it within seconds. He takes a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs to near-bursting before removing the cigarette from between his lips and angling his head back to blow the smoke away from his party members. He takes another drag, letting the nicotine work its magic through his system and kill the lingering anger that courses through his veins from his earlier..altercation, before angling his head back to the group and asking, "So? What on the agenda for tonight?"

All eyes turn to Varric, who glances around the bar to make sure no one is looking. He leans in, causing everyone else to sit at attention and lean in, as well. Quietly, so that his voice is barely heard above the sounds of the bar, he says, "I hear one of these clowns has a job for us tonight. Found out he was coming here to scope for potential candidates to take on the job, and there's no way he's gonna pass the big guy up."

Meaning Hawke.

Hawke narrows his eyes at Varric, skeptical. "What sort of job are we talking here, Varric? It better not be for Meeran."

"No, no, I'd never put you through that again, Hawke," Varric says, turning reassuring blue eyes to Hawke's own. Hawke takes a steadying breath, trying to calm the anger that's still sizzling in his system - threatening to spark into a wildfire again at a moment's notice. Varric turns his blue eyes back to the bar before continuing, "According to my source, the job is just an average pick up, but there's some pretty heavy security we'll have to get through."

" _ Average  _ pick-ups don't have heavy security, Varric. What, exactly, are we going to be picking up?" Aveline asks, her tone hard. Seems she doesn't trust where this is going, either.

Varric rolls his eyes. "Does it matter? Look at how much this guy is offering for it."

Varric slips a piece of paper from inside of his jacket pocket and slides it across the table.

Hawke glances down at the note, taking a drag from his cigarette as he does.

Hawke chokes on the smoke filling his lungs.

"Are you fucking serious?" Hawke asks between coughs, half-heaving his lungs through his esophagus. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. "There's no fucking way he has that much."

Anders lets out a low whistle. "That's quite the pretty penny.. Even split four ways."

Aveline narrows her eyes at Varric. "We better not be picking up drugs, Varric. There are many things I do for you, but compromising my job isn't going to be one of them."

"Listen, Red," Varric says, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You're a cop that's friends with a bunch of rowdy delinquents. You risk your job every day just by being friends with us."

Aveline turns her gaze to Hawke, her eyes pleading. Hawke simply shrugs, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. His coughs had mostly subsided now, only pushing their way through in short little bursts that has him giggling. He says, "I mean... he's got a point, Aves."

Aveline groans and lays her forehead on the table.

They all settle into a comfortable silence. Corff comes over with Hawke's beer and Hawke nods in thanks as he accepts it. He takes a sip - his chest still seizing in a cough every twenty seconds or so - and tries to pace himself now that he knows there's going to be a job for him tonight. His golden eyes scan the room, trying to find anyone that may be looking his way an unusual number of times. After a few minutes, he sighs, and puts out the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray on the table before saying, "So. Carver and I got in a fight today. Before I came here. That's why I was being so.. broody."

Aveline finally sits up from the table, her motherly instincts kicking in when Hawke mentions trouble with his family. Years ago, they had all met through the homeless network of Kirkwall - having all come over from a war-torn Ferelden. The Hawke family had instantly accepted Aveline as one of their own - and, after having lost her husband, Aveline had been more than happy to become an honorary Hawke.

She may be regretting it now, though. At least, that's what Hawke thinks, anyway.

"Again Hawke?" she asks, her eyebrows flushing together in concern. "What about, now?"

Hawke sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, trying to fight the oncoming headache as he remembers the fight. He says, "Carver thinks it's a good idea to work for Meeran again. I... don't like it. So I told him. He didn't like that."

"He wants to work for Meeran again?  _ Why? _ "

Hawke shrugs, taking a miserable drink from his beer. As hard-headed, obnoxious, and stubborn as his brother is, he's a good guy. Hawke knows that. He knows Carver is trying to do what he thinks best for the family. He knows he isn't Carver's father. But, after all these years of caring for his younger brother, he can't help it. He can't help feeling the need to care for him, to guide him down a path that he thinks right. He has to remind himself, constantly, that Carver is an adult capable of making his own decisions.

_ But Meeran of all people... _

"He does realize that Meeran is garbage, right? That he sends all his pawns to do his dirty work, but stays out of it himself. You know if shit goes south, he's gonna high-tail it out of here and wipe his hands free of this place," Anders scolds. He had briefly helped Hawke with his work with Meeran. It had actually been Anders that got Hawke away from working with that particular scum of the earth.

"I know that," Hawke growls, rubbing harder at the bridge of his nose. His prevention method wasn't working. A stabbing wave of pain flashes through his skull. He lets out a groan and mumbles, "I just don't know what to  _ do _ . He won't  _ listen  _ to me."

"Have you thought of - oh, I don't know - maybe not being an absolute twat when you talk to him about it?"

Hawke opens his eyes, bringing them back up to meet Anders' eyes. "You aren't even there most of the time. How the fuck would you know how I talk to him about it?"

Hawke expects Anders to snap back at him, but feels a shock of surprise when Anders starts to laugh. Hawke moves his eyes to Varric and Aveline for an explanation, but both of them are grinning, as well. Hawke raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Do you hear yourself, Hawke?" Varric says, finally letting out a slight chuckle. "The only reason you're talking to us that way is because how you talked to the poor kid. Your tone says it all."

"I'm just -" Hawke starts, but sighs when Aveline lets out a chuckle. He honestly has no idea where he goes wrong, every single time. He doesn't know why he's so damn protective of Carver, or why that protection manifests itself in the form of anger. Try as he might, he knows his friends are right - every time he talks to Carver, he treats him like a child, incapable of making his own decisions.

Hawke knows full well how he would react if anyone spoke to him that way.

With another sigh, and after a long drink from his beer, he says, "I guess there's an apology to be had here. But, still, how do I stop him from going back to Meeran? I don't want him to have to work for that shitbag again. I don't want him to feel like he  _ has  _ to."

"Listen, Hawke," Varric says, cupping his hands around his pint, ready to launch into one of his famous lectures. "Just let the boy be. When he sees you being successful  _ without  _ Meeran's help, he'll eventually want out, too. You just have to trust him to take care of himself for a little bit. He'll come around."

"But -"

"Ah - ah," Aveline says, scolding. She takes a sip from her beer, the hint of a smile still playing at the corners of her mouth again. "Varric is right. Just let him be. We know him better than you think you do. He'll come around. He doesn't want that life, either. He just doesn't see another way around right now."

Hawke stares at his friends, moving his amber eyes between the three of them slowly. When he realizes they wear matching expressions, he sighs, shrinking back down into his seat and growling a low, " _ Fine. _ "

Just as they settle into another silence, Hawke casts his eyes out to the rest of the bar and notices a small, dark-headed man looking his way - staring unflinchingly, even when Hawke makes eye contact. Hawke raises an eyebrow, making it even more obvious that he has noticed the man. Instead of shying away, the man stands from his table and starts making his way towards Hawke's group. Hawke sits up, attentive, and draws attention from his group to the man approaching them. They all turn, watching him approach, indifferent expressions on their faces.

When he reaches the table, he lifts a hand in greeting, offering a light wave before saying, "Hello. I'm Anso, local merchant and trader. I was wondering -"

"We know you're here for a job," Hawke interrupts. He wasn't much for beating around the bush. "Just tell us what you need."

The man - Anso - turns his beady eyes to Hawke, suddenly starting to seem nervous now that he's facing Hawke's actually  _ massive  _ size directly. Hawke doesn't stop watching the man as he lifts his beer to his lips, downing the last bit of it before placing the pint back on the table. He wipes the back of his hand across his lips, knocking loose the small amount of moisture that had caught itself in his beard.

The man swallows. He says, "I have a pick up. See, I was supposed to do it myself, but apparently some thugs in the area got their hands on the package. I can't fight through an entire band of thugs on my own. I was wondering if you'd get the good for me. You'd be rewarded handsomely."

"So I've heard," Varric says, drawing attention to himself. "Here's the thing - I'm not in the business of putting this beautiful face in danger unless I know exactly what sort of danger I'm getting into. So - what are we picking up? I need some more details before I agree to this."

Anso's fists clenching and unclenching doesn't escape Hawke's notice. He hardens his eyes at the man, making it even more obvious that he is  _ not  _ to be messed with. Anso sighs before finally glancing around the bar to make sure no one is listening. Quietly, he says, "I was hired by the templars to bring in some lyrium from the underground. Unfortunately, I didn't quite make it to the drop point before I was ambushed. They took the lyrium, but left me - and my ride - in shambles."

The tension that spreads through the group is tangible, flinging itself like a rubber band around their hearts. Anders speaks, his tone low - threatening. "You're going to have  _ us,  _ two of us obviously  _ mages,  _ do a pick up that benefits the  _ templars _ ?"

Anso holds his hands up, waving them frantically now. "Hey, listen - listen. If you can get the lyrium from the thugs, you can keep it. Have it all. At this point, I just want it out of my hands."

Hawke lifts an eyebrow. "Keep it? What's in this deal for you, then?"

"I don't know - maybe some bloody peace of mind? This isn't the first time a shipment has been lost. And honestly, the templars got a massive shipment of the stuff last week. This was just provisional - a fill-in amount of lyrium in case they ran low on supplies."

Hawke clenches his jaw, mulling the thought over. It wouldn't be a hit to the templars, but it would be  _ something.  _ An annoyance. Anything to get under those fuckers' skins.

"Well," he says, leaning forward and eyeing the man. "Where do we start?"

Anso lets out a gasp of air, obviously relieved. He goes over the details with the crew and, once finished, tells them to meet him back here the following day for the reward. He turns and leaves the bar, shuffling unnoticed through the mass of bodies in the bar. The group watches him go then turns to each other. Without saying another word, they all finish their drinks in one swig and stand, heading to the front of the bar. Hawke adjusts his jacket as he walks, pulling at the lapels of the leather and pulling it tighter over his body to adjust it on his shoulders. Once he's comfortable, he reaches into his pocket, drawing out another cigarette to pop between lips. By the time he gets outside, he has the cigarette lit and the pack back in his pocket.

"Y'all just wanna follow me?" Hawke asks, walking backwards toward his bike. They all nod their agreement and return to their respective bikes - all together in a location not too far from Hawke's own. He reaches his bike and lifts his leg, sitting himself down in the leather seat that - at this point - is perfectly formed to his ass. He grabs his helmet from the handlebars and slips it on, snapping it snugly onto his head. Hawke is a hard man, but he knows he's not invincible - safety first, after all.

When he's settled, he takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke through his nose as he starts his engine. It roars to life, rumbling like a beast sitting in its cage, ready to break out. No sound matched it, Hawke thought.

Thought being the key word.

He revs his engine once, twice, three times before finally walking his bike back out of the parking spot. He waits a few seconds for everyone to get to him then kicks his foot off the ground, throttling the gas and letting the bike carry him forward.

The drive to the outpost isn't far - ten minutes, tops, at cruising speed - but the cold is enough to get Hawke's teeth chattering. By the time they reach a spot far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to walk to the outpost, Hawke's fingers are numb.

_ Those are gonna hurt when they defrost. _

They all pull into an alley a couple blocks away from the outpost and kill their engines. They climb off their bikes and put away their gear, coming to huddle around each other for a moment. Thankfully, they are all equally as cold, so it's not awkward for any of them to be close enough to touch.

"So," Varric whispers, teeth chattering. "What's the plan?"

"I could see the post a bit before we pulled back here," Hawke says, glancing back towards the post as if he could see it between the brick buildings. He turns back to the group and says, "Looked like they have a group of four or five standing outside. No telling how many people are inside. It may be best to start the fight outside - the area is more open and allows for us to hide if anyone else runs out. If we start inside, we may be overwhelmed, then have the four or five from outside join in."

They all nod, seeming to agree. Hawke continues, "Varric, if you could take one or two out with Bianca, Anders and I should be able to handle the other two or three.  We're not looking to kill here - we don't need the blood on our hands. Just... maim them a little."

There are gentle laughs all around as they nod in agreement. Varric takes Bianca off his back, sliding the crossbow over his shoulder and running a hand down her smooth wooden frame. "Bianca, baby, how I've missed you."

"Okay, yes, touching reunion - it has been a while. But that means we have to be more careful, okay? You know my healing is garbage, and it's not fair to rely on Anders to watch us all. Which, speaking of, Anders -" Hawke says, turning golden eyes to glacier-blue. "You focus on Aveline. We're all going to be keeping our distance, but she doesn't really have that option. We need to keep her healthy so she can distract them from us. Got it?"

Anders nods. Hawke glances between the three people - his absolute best friends in the world. They'd only known each other for a short while, but he knows - he knows what they mean to him already. He sighs, sitting back from the huddle and lifting his arms above his head. "Well, let's do this, shall we?"

They all nod in agreement, suddenly all serious. They come out from the alley, staying low and walking fast. It takes them a couple minutes to reach a decent vantage point on the group standing outside of the post. When they do though, there is no hesitation.

With a  _ whoosh  _ then a  _ thud,  _ an arrow leaves the hilt of Varric's crossbow and embeds itself in the knee of the closest person in the group. Before the group can even react, Hawke is pulling magic from the Fade, drawing it into his palm and focusing on the chill of an ice storm. He flings the spell from his hand, letting it hit one of the men's torsos. The ice wraps itself around the man's body, immobilizing him, and he falls to the ground with a rough bang.

Then, chaos erupts.

The man Varric had shot first lets out a piercing scream, alerting the group to the ambush. They draw their weapons but, by then, three of their men have been taken out.

_ Three left. More than I thought. _

As the men turn to rush into the building, Hawke flings another spell from his hand. It barely misses one of the men, but hits the ground in front of him, causing him to slip forward and bash his head against the door. He's out in an instant and Hawke flinches, hoping he hasn't overdone it and killed someone.

_ No time for that now, Hawke. Move on. _

_ Two more. _

A scream.

_ One more. _

Just as the thought crosses his mind, the door bursts open, revealing another swarm of enemies. At this point, Aveline is making her way toward the outpost, masking herself in shadows as she nears the door. As soon as she does, she turns the corner, using her shield as a buffer to push the entire group of men back inside.

Once she's in, the rest of group starts moving forward.

They run as fast as they can, not wanting to leave Aveline alone for a moment longer than they have to. They rush into the building, spells blazing, arrows flying. Aveline has already taken out two men, but someone has managed to slice a pretty good cut into her sword arm. She is bleeding heavily, some of the blood splashing across her face with every swing of her sword.

"Aveline!" Hawke yells just as a man rushes her blind spot. Just in time, Anders flings ice from the palm of his hand, hitting the man right at his feet. The ice creeps up the man's legs, rendering him immobile. Hawke briefly meets Anders' eyes, giving him an appreciative nod, before turning back to the battle at hand.

They fight for what seems like an eternity, though there are only a total of ten enemies, tops. Hawke counts as each falls.

_ Ten, nine, eight, seven, six - _

He narrowly spins out of the way as a knife goes flying past his head, embedding itself in the drywall right where his head had been. He flings his gaze to where the knife had come from and finds an enemy about to lift another knife to throw. Before the woman can wrap her fingers around the knife's hilt, Hawke's defense drive kicks in and he flings a spell at her, freezing her hand to her side. She brings narrowed, crazed eyes to Hawke's, and he simply flashes a cocky grin at her.

_ Five. _

Despite everything, his group is winning. He doesn't have time to think before he sees someone descending on Varric. He does what he can to help, and continues counting.

_ Four, three, two, one - _

Just as he turns to find the last person standing, Aveline is dragging her sword from the enemy's thigh. Hawke stands there, breathing heavily, his eyes wild as he searching for any sign of further ambush. Besides the moans from the mound of injured people in the room, there's not a single sound. He lets himself relax, focuses on steadying his breathing, before finally saying, "And now, let's go find that lyrium."

There are only two rooms branching off from the main room they're in. Though the outpost appeared massive on the outside, it was apparently a ruse to blend in with the city's atmosphere - the rooms inside were ridiculously cramped. Hawke enters the room to the right of the entrance, walking over to the chest in the corner of the room and, without hesitating, kicks it open.

When he does, his breathing stops. Anger flares through his body - the wildfire he had try to stop earlier blazing its way through his system at a rapid speed.

"What?" Varric's voice, from behind him. He hears him speak again. "Hawke, what's going on?"

Hawke turns to the rest of the group - now bruised and battered and covered in blood after the fight - and clenches his jaw. He says, "It's empty."

" _ What? _ "Anders says, storming over to Hawke's side. When he confirms the statement with his own eyes, he turns to Hawke, his eyes reflecting the anger coursing through Hawke's system. "What the fuck was the point?"

"I don't know, Anders," Hawke says, grinding his teeth harder. He's pretty sure they're about to shatter at this point. "I don't fucking know, but I have a bad feeling we're about to find out."

Without saying another word, Hawke storms out of the room.

_ I swear to the fucking Maker, when I find Anso - _

Cold hair blasts his face when he walks outside, but the wildfire coursing through him blazes hotter than ever. He clenches his fist, moving his eyes around the group of enemies that just-so-happened to show up as soon as he finished off the other thugs.

_ Fucking. Fantastic. _

"That's not the elf," the woman at the front of the pack says. "Who is that?"

"It doesn't matter," one of the men says from beside her. "We were told to kill whoever leaves this building."

Just as the man draws his sword, Aveline comes rushing out of the building with her own. She bears down on him and, for the second time tonight, chaos erupts.

The fight drags on. Their group is outnumbered and, after just having fought just mere minutes before, are extremely exhausted. Each movement takes a massive amount of effort, but they hang on. They push through. They do whatever they can to stay alive.

Even, in this instance, when it means taking a life.

Hawke didn't see it coming. He was focused on stopping the lead woman from attacking Aveline when, out of nowhere, someone came up behind him and smashed the hilt of their sword between his shoulder blades. He lets out a grunt, falling to the ground, unable to catch himself with anything other than his face. He feels his skin tear, the blood immediately prick to the surface to cover the damage the road does to his flesh. It burns like hell and Hawke's vision goes black. After so much fighting, after surviving for this long, he can't let himself die here.

_ Not. Here. _

He forces himself to roll over and, though his vision is still dazed, he calls to the Fade to gather magic in his palm. Only this time, his anger - the blazing wildfire still coursing through his system - manifests itself in his magic. Flames, hotter than a normal flame, conjure themselves in his palm. 

Without thinking, he tosses the spell straight at the man's face.

Agony, pain, hurt, grief - every emotion forces its way through the scream that tears itself from the man's lips. Hawke feels his blood grow cold, his mind grow blank. He had promised, made a  _ vow  _ with himself, that he would not kill again. Not until he had to. Not unless it was necessary.

This death is not necessary.

Just as he's about to panic, suddenly, there's a hand on his arm. He turns wide, fear-struck eyes to Anders and Anders simply shakes his head. Lowly, he says, "It's okay, Hawke. There's nothing you could have done. Get up."

Hawke doesn't allow himself to think. He simply obeys.

The rest of the fight is nearly uneventful. By the time Hawke comes to, there are only two people left - one that Varric picks off easily with Bianca, the other facing Aveline in a head-to-head battle. Hawke watches as Aveline deflects a blow and spins out of the way as the other soldier brandishes a knife, stabbing it towards her rib cage. Just as the soldier goes to swing again, Aveline lifts her shield, deflecting the blow and knocking the man off balance. She stabs forward, into the man's shoulder - not a fatal wound, per say, but definitely not an easy one to recover from.

When the final soldier falls, the group gathers together. They are breathing heavily, all of them covered in blood now. The victory is now bittersweet - not only had they turned up empty-handed, but they had had to kill others. Something none of them wanted to do.

But best not to think about it.

They turn to leave and, as they do, they are once again stopped by another soldier. Weak, weary, and completely broken down after what they have just been through, Hawke has to resist the urge to fall to his knees and accept surrender. Just as he does, the soldier speaks.

"I don't know who you are, friend, but you have made a serious mistake coming here. Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing! Now!"

When the order is completed, he is met by silence.

The silence stretches, until behind him, a body falls. Crumpled, broken.

_ Dead. _

A voice speaks, and Hawke remembers his thought from earlier. The thought that the rumbling of his bike's engine was the most beautiful, satisfying thing he has ever heard.

He had never been more wrong.

"Your men are dead," the voice says, and Hawke feels his heart stop. His eyes widen in surprise and he turns them to perhaps the most beautiful person he's ever seen in his entire life. Ever. The man continues speaking, and Hawke has to resist dropping his jaw. "And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can."

At this point, the man is standing in front of Hawke, his back to the soldier. The man watches Hawke through green hues and Hawke can't help but notice the golden specks of color that are scattered through his irises like flowers on a summer's day. The man moves his eyes down Hawke's body, slowly, and Hawke - once again - has to fight the urge to fall to his knees.

He doesn't even know this man, but he already knows he'd do anything for him.

Hawke's eyes snap to attention when he sees the soldier behind the man move forward. He starts to call for the Fade again when the soldier says, "You're going nowhere, slave."

Before Hawke can react, the intricate tattoos decorating the man's body light up bright blue. Hawke is stunned, and takes a step back - just as the man turns and plunges his glowing hand into the soldier's chest. His hand disappears as easily into his chest as a dagger would and Hawke feels heat rush through his body. He hears a sickening pop, sees a spray of blood coat the man's wrist as he brings his hand from the now-dead soldier's chest, and watches the man turn slowly - ever so slowly - back into Hawke's direction.

Hawke doesn't know why, or how, but he is  _ extremely  _ turned on right now.

"Uhh -" Hawke starts, stupidly.

"I... apologize," the man says, stopping Hawke from embarrassing himself further. He turns his eyes downcast, following his gaze and walking away from the group. He continues, "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so.... numerous."

Hawke clears his throat, trying to clear his mind and gather his thoughts before speaking. "I take it - these men were after you?"

"Correct," the man says, then turns his eyes back to Hawke's. Whatever work Hawke had done on slowing his heart is now reversed - it's now pounding in his chest, beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. He shifts his foot from one foot to the other, attempting to distract himself, as the man speaks again. "My name is Fenris. These men were bounty hunters, seeking to recover a magister's lost property. Namely, myself."

Hawke pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Property? It's.. the 90's. In Kirkwall. People aren't property. There haven't been slaves in hundreds of years."

Fenris smiles then, but the smile is sad, and Hawke feel his heart break.

_ No fucking way. _

"If only."

Hawke struggles to find his next words. He doesn't want to pry, but he needs to know what he just witnessed. "I have a feeling - this all has to do with those markings on your skin?"

A small chuckle, and Hawke feels his heart flutter. Fenris says, "Yes. I imagine I must look... strange to you."

Hawke snorts. He can't help it. It's an involuntary reaction to the most absurd statement he thinks he's ever heard in his entire life. Fenris's brows crinkle together, but before he can ask, Hawke says, "Sorry, sorry - I just - wow. Ahhhh - I'm pretty sure you're the least... strange person... I've seen here tonight."

_ And by least strange I mean you're the most gorgeous fucking person I've ever seen. _

A chuckle comes from behind him and, soon, the chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh. Hawke turns and sees Anders, doubled-over, his hands wrapped around his stomach, laughing. Hawke narrows his eyes. "What's so funny?"

"You mean - to tell me - you just saw this man crush someone's heart - and you have a fucking  _ hard-on  _ for him?" He bursts into another fit of giggles, this time joined by Aveline and Varric, and Hawke feels his face grow warm. He puts a hand over his face, running it slowly over his expression, trying to hide his embarrassment. 

When he turns his eyes back to Fenris's, there is something there he cannot read. Fenris's eyes are warm, and there is a smile playing at his lips, but the smile never fully forms.

_ He's shy. Oh my fucking god, he's shy. I'm going to die. This man is going to kill me and I've only just met him. _

_ Maker help me. _

"Yes, well," Fenris says, clearing his throat. "I do greatly apologize for the inconvenience tonight has been for you all. I have a sum of money, you may have it, and I shall be out of your hair. I promise not to bother you again."

Hawke, before he can stop himself, blurts, "And if I want you to bother me again?"

Pained groans from behind him, but his eyes are on Fenris. Fenris studies him for a moment, for what feels like an eternity, before ever so slowly, the smile that had been playing at the corners of his mouth spreads - filling his face with the most beautiful sight Hawke has ever seen.

"It's... the 90's. In Kirkwall. At least buy me dinner first," Fenris says, perfectly imitating part of what Hawke had said earlier.

Hawke feels himself smile. He shifts from one foot to the other and, as he does, so does Fenris. They both notice the movement, and their smiles grow.

Despite this shitty night, maybe things are looking up.

Hawke has never felt more happy in his entire life.

_ And just think,  _ Hawke tells himself.

_ It's only day one. _

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my dear friend Hannah over on Twitter. <3
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This fic is literally My Aesthetic™. I love this and I'm so damn happy I got the chance to write it.


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